


Gold and Lavender

by pearlsandsteel



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Ava pretty, Fluff, soft, washing each others hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27493369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlsandsteel/pseuds/pearlsandsteel
Summary: Ava beautiful, washing each others hair soft, that's all you need to know.You trace the edges of her face with your fingers, her cheekbones, her nose, her jaw. They are perfect like cut from expensive marble, made to be worshiped by thousands but doing so is reserved for you, only you.
Relationships: Detective/Ava du Mortain
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Gold and Lavender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roses_and_roo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roses_and_roo/gifts).



> This is a gift for moREXgan, happy birthday!!! I got inspired by our conversation about washing Avas hair and decided to write this quick drabble for you (which turned out longer than I planned because bisexual brain can’t shut up about how beautiful Ava is). I hope you like it!

“This is stupid,” she protests. “I can perfectly do this by myself.”

She crosses her arms with a pout, for a moment she looks like a grumpy child and you have to stifle a chuckle. She was confused by your suggestion, still is, though she kicks off her heavy combat boots and slips her grey shirt over her head like you had asked her to.

You climb in first and the warmth of the water sends shivers through your whole body, you slide back so she can sit down in front of you. She submerges once to wetten her hair and then turns around to look at you. “Fine, what do you want me to do.”

“Nothing,” you say with a smile. “Just lean back and relax.”

She frowns a little at the word ‘relax’ as if she wasn’t sure what it means and knowing her she probably wasn't.

Though a little hesitant, she leans back and you wrap your legs around her waist as if to make sure she stays here and not runs off again.

You take one of the many colorful bottles next to you and pour some of its content into your hand, the scent of roses and lavender fills the air around you as you slowly begin to massage her scalp. With a smile you watch her eyes flutter shut and she leans back further with a sigh that sounds like she has been holding it for centuries. Her stiff posture loosens up a bit and you wonder when this woman last relaxed.

And there’s a heaviness in your chest as you ask yourself when was the last time she let someone else take care of her. She’s always so worried for everyone else, the team, the missions, you. It was part of the reason you had asked her if you could wash her hair, you wanted to give something back and give her the chance to be vulnerable for once. You know it’s difficult for her to let go and the fact that she agreed to this anyway, that she not only let her hair down for you but lets you thread your fingers through it, fills your heart with an indescribable warmth. Knowing that she feels just as safe in your arms as you do in hers, that she’s ready to give up that control she keeps so tightly clenched in her fists for a moment, means more to you than you could ever put in words.

Your hands work their way down further and her blond waves run through your fingers like liquid gold, your eyes wander over her face which is normally covered in a tight frown, her forehead wrinkled in worry and concentration, always so careful to keep her mask in place. But at the moment there’s no mask, it was washed away by the warm bathwater and god, she is beautiful. She always is but right now, here, in your arms - she is ethereal. The shine of the candles scattered on the rim around you dances over her sharp features, light and shadows painting a story onto her face, a face that itself is a work of art. And you wonder how many people had the privilege to capture it on their canvas like you do right now.

You trace the edges of her face with your fingers, her cheekbones, her nose, her jaw. They are perfect like cut from expensive marble, made to be worshiped by thousands but doing so is reserved for you, only you. And you think about how lucky you are, being able to look at her like this, to witness this beauty up close. 

Your hands gently slide over her porcelain skin as if it would break and she would dissolve into shards and dust if you wouldn’t be careful. Your thumb strokes over the curve of her lip, as soft as velvet and silk.

You let your hands slide from her head to her broad shoulders, kneading into the tough muscle and her head falls into the crook of your neck with a small moan, her hair spilling over your shoulder like a blanket, like rapeseed fields in the sun that stretch for miles across the country.

Your fingers keep digging into her flesh and you feel the knots of tension resolve slowly underneath your touch. It had took 900 years to form them, to carve them out of stone, seemingly made to carry the weight of the whole world, but here in the warmth of your embrace, she lets it all go, let’s the rocks she’s been carrying for centuries slip from her shoulders and you’d gladly carry them for her.

The gods had outdone themselves by creating her and your hands are not enough to worship her, your lips find her shoulder and purposefully work their way up her neck, you can feel the steady rhythm of her heart quicken up. Your lips grace over her skin, her cheeks, the curve of her chin, restless in their reverence until they find their mark, their resting place.

It’s so easy to lose yourself in her kiss and you have no intend to do otherwise, almost praying you’d get lost in the taste of her lips and the sound of her murmuring your name. You all too willingly give your all to her and she gives the same in return. She is the sole ruler over your being, she is all that occupies your mind, all that fills your soul, all that reigns over your heart and you wouldn’t wish to hand the crown to anyone else. She is all you need and you absorb every little thing about her to later recall it like a psalm.

But no matter how much you want to cling to her, you eventually have to break away to breathe, but you’re still so close that you breathe the same air, her scent fills your lungs.

A smile spreads across your faces and hers is like the sun breaking through the clouds, like a raindrop after wandering through the desert for weeks.

“I knew this was an excellent idea,” you murmur before sinking your hands into the waves of her hair once again, pulling her back to you


End file.
